


Like Real People Do

by ObliObla



Series: Lucifer Songfics [10]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Gen, Post-Devil Face Reveal to Chloe Decker, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22460359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: Chloe has seen Lucifer's Devil face; the truth is out.In a strange way, she's almost relieved.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Lucifer Songfics [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1137194
Comments: 14
Kudos: 158





	Like Real People Do

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago, before Season 4 dropped, and was waiting for a good time to post. Congratulations to the whole fandom for 6k Lucifer fics!
> 
> I had a thought, dear, however scary  
> About that night, the bugs and the dirt  
> Why were you digging? What did you bury  
> Before those hands pulled me from the earth?
> 
> I knew that look, dear, eyes always seeking  
> Was there in someone that dug long ago  
> So I will not ask you why you were creeping  
> In some sad way I already know
> 
> I will not ask you where you came from  
> I will not ask and neither should you  
> Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips  
> We should just kiss like real people do  
> -Hozier-

In a strange way, Chloe had almost been relieved.

Fearful of abandonment, she’d made a habit of picking partners that she knew would leave; Marcus, Dan, Sarah—the only other woman in her academy class. It still hurt when they were gone, but some cruel and broken part of her would breathe easier. It was a necessary, if painful, reminder: everyone left, eventually. Her dad had deserted her—not by choice, but still, he _had_ —and her mom had never truly been there in the first place.

And when they’d refused to forsake her outright, well, she’d just had to do it for them. Left school, started acting. Quit acting, joined the academy. Rejected by her peers, she’d resigned herself to working partnerless. But it had almost been celebratory; you couldn’t be abandoned, after all, if you were already alone.

And then _Lucifer_ had come. Not frightened away by her sharp edges, but drawn to them. Meeting all her high walls with a less-than-patient grin and, when that hadn’t worked, a pickax. Chipping away at her carefully crafted excuses with inordinate glee: first as a challenge—which was easy enough to ignore—but then with almost desperate persistence, like she might be his salvation, the only light in the darkness. And she’d started believing that maybe he was hers too, the only person in the world she could trust not to abandon her.

But then he’d left too, and everything was okay again. Well, not okay… The sharp edge of betrayal she’d thought herself no longer capable of feeling had cut into her very soul. So, not okay, but safe, predictable; a pain so constant she’d felt unbalanced without it. He was just like all the others and she finally, _finally_ knew how to categorize him. Her world became orderly again, even if his chaos still lurked in the liminal places: haunting the moments before she woke, smiling sadly out of the corner of her eye, making her heart flutter with his sweetness before crushing it yet further with his cruelty.

Then, despite herself, she’d let him in again, desperate for something more _. More_ than stability and resignation, what she _truly desired_. Something sublime and divine and… _extraordinary_ , in the most literal of senses. And, well, he’d certainly delivered that: brimstone and hellfire and bloody feathers while he’d blinked at her in confusion and the faith had turned to ash in her mouth.

So, she’d almost been relieved; their fairytale was over, had reached its logical conclusion. A poor innocent, corrupted by the Devil; deceived into loving him until he committed a heinous crime—the murder of her true love—and, in his sinful pride, revealed all, only to flee to his infernal throne, laughing like a Disney villain. But this wasn’t a Disney movie, wasn’t any kind of fairytale. She was no innocent, he had never lied, her true love _wasn’t_ and, most surprisingly, _he hadn’t run_.

He didn’t abandon her, so she did it for him. Not fully, immediately, as she’d wanted to; there were too many responsibilities she had to take care of, even in the depths of her pain. But the whole incident was swept under the rug with alarming speed—she would have suspected his involvement, had she been capable of thinking about him without losing every shred of composure she still managed to cling to—so, less than a week later, she was gone. Escaped to the last place he would look for her: high enough in the mountains to have snow cover this time of year. An anonymous, cheap-looking cabin outside an anonymous, cheap-looking town.

The first day, she ate hot, greasy pizza, watched terrible television, and screamed insults at every being—celestial or infernal, it made no matter to her—she could imagine existing.

The first night, a freak blizzard coated her cabin in several additional feet of snow. She watched it fill the windows from a bed she hadn’t even bothered to pull the blankets down on.

The second day, she ate cold, still impressively greasy pizza, discovered that the TV didn’t work very well with the electricity out, and threw everything she could get her hands on at the walls.

The second night, fed up with solitude, she trekked to what was laughingly referred to as the main road—as if this pit stop off the highway had more than one road in the first place—and headed for the only real non-ski-related commercial venture: a combination gas station, restaurant, bar, and post office whose major selling point was its generator-supplied power. She was shocked out of her daze, as she half-fell into the shockingly busy building, by the gentle tinkling of piano keys.

_Don’t be ridiculous, lots of people play piano._

She started pushing through the crowd to order herself a drink—something a little too high-proof and preferably cheap—when a voice joined the music, hushing the unruly mob with a single syllable. But she didn’t hear the words, didn’t hear anything but the voice, the impossible voice, that shouldn’t, _couldn’t_ be here. She shoved someone ruthlessly out of her way, scrambling forward. She was hearing things, she had to be. She had to…

Lucifer had become permanently scarred in her memory, so the sight of him whole, skin flushed from the press of bodies in the stuffy space, eyes dark and shining, startled her worse than the mere fact of his existence. He slipped gently back into unaccompanied instrumental, turning his head, flashing that mask of an easy smile he hid behind, when he saw her. His face twisted in violent grief as his hands slammed discordantly on the keys. He stood, then froze, staring at her. He opened his mouth, lips forming around a word she couldn’t hear through the buzzing in her ears. She ran, ducking around bemused patrons. _Get outside. Get outside. Get outside!_

She threw herself out the door and turned, barreling down the alley. It was the most direct route to the cabin, to her car, to _safety_ , but…

He was standing in the alleyway, leaning against the wall, with an unlit cigarette in hand. She stopped in her tracks, skidding to a halt, panting. “How?”

He looked up at her and slipped the cigarette back into the case, pressing it into his pocket. He shuffled awkwardly. “There’s a… side door,” he said, nudging it with his shoulder before pulling himself away from the brick and turning to her, hands down and palms forward.

“No.” She shook her head. Her voice was so harsh it was barely hers anymore. “How did you find me? Did you… do you just _know_ where I am?” How could she have thought to hide from the _Devil_? How could she have…?

His brow furrowed. “I didn’t know you were—”

“Don’t lie to me.” She stalked forward, brave in her anger.

He raised himself to his full height, looming over her. “I do _not_ lie,” he said through gritted teeth.

She refused to shrink under his gaze. “Then why would you _possibly_ be here.”

“I…” He blinked. “This is the highest mountain in the vicinity of Los Angeles. I thought my Father might actually listen to me if I were… closer to him,” he muttered. He averted his gaze; he almost looked embarrassed. “That was a few days ago, now. I thought you might appreciate some distance, so I… stayed.”

The wave of his sadness almost overtook her, but she buried it in spite. “So you were, what? Asking daddy to take you home? Can’t even get there yourself, can you?”

“My home is _here_ ,” he hissed. Fire rose in his eyes and her heartbeat rose precipitously, but the flames died as he reined in his anger. “I asked for nothing for myself.”

“Then what—”

“For you, okay,” he admitted quietly. He paced, agitated beyond his ability to hide. He turned back to her, desperation clear on his face. “I asked… _pleaded_ —from bended knee, even—for Him to release you from your… _blessing_.” He spat the last word like it was the cruelest curse. His words came quickly now, like they pained him so much he just wanted them over with. “You have made it clear that you have no desire to see me again, so I prayed to Him to stop pushing us together. It didn’t work, clearly.” He bit his lip and she saw a single tear escape his eye. “You deserve a life free of His interference, of… mine.”

“God is why we…?” She was beyond bewildered.

He chuckled without mirth. “He made you for me, and you _hate_ me. Isn’t that the worst joke you’ve ever heard?”

Her brain was lost in haze, deeper than the snow. Was _God_ the reason for her abandonment issues? Or maybe she didn’t even make her own choices… How could she trust anything, ever again?

He interrupted her panic with his bitter musings. “You’ve free will, though. He can’t _force_ you to do anything, no matter how much it may feel like it.”

She came back to reality slowly. Her feet were beginning to freeze.

His breath was steady as it puffed out in great clouds of fog. There was a hole in the snow, a puddle surrounding his feet. He thought she hated him, and yet here he stood, waiting for her to decide his fate. He was the flame, but he had given her the candle.

“What if we just pretend?” she asked, breathless.

“I…” He stared at her. “What?”

She threw herself at him, catching him around the waist, leaning up to press her lips to his. He burned against her as his hands came up, automatically, to frame her hips.

He pulled back, panting against her mouth. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? she asked, raking her nails down his chest. He groaned and she tugged him down to her again, licking into his mouth, trying to taste the sound.

He withdrew, blinking rapidly. “Pretend… pretending what?”

She ground herself against him, mindless of their lack of privacy. “You don’t think about where I came from, and I don’t think about what you are.” She tried to reach for him again, but he shoved her away. She tripped on a pothole and fell, hard, into the snow.

“I am _done_ with self-deception,” he said, his lip curling in disgust. “I refuse to be ashamed of who I am.” He turned and stalked away, not looking back.

* * *

Chloe trembled from the cold, hair dripping fitfully as she trudged through the snow toward her cabin. Flurries drifted lazily from the sky, freezing her further. She should have just gone back inside, had a drink, warmed up some. The cabin didn’t have power and she’d be alone, again, with her thoughts. But she couldn’t stand the idea of being surrounded by so many people who were allowed to make their own destinies, allowed to be what _they_ wanted, not what God wanted them to be. As she approached, she froze. A shadowy figure stood on her porch, shuffling its feet. It turned…

“Oh, Daddammit!” Lucifer scowled at her out of the night. He gestured at the building behind him. “I suppose this is _your_ cabin, then?” he asked bitterly.

“Yep,” she said, climbing the stairs, brushing snow from her shoulders. “Is this just going to… keep happening, now?”

He sighed. “Some new and exciting form of punishment, I imagine.” He tried to suppress a shiver, but she could hear his teeth chatter.

She unlocked the door. “Well, you might as well come in. I won’t have you freeze out here.”

He grumbled, but assented, following her inside. Not that it helped much; it was barely warmer than it’d been outside. He stepped sure-footed into the darkness as she stumbled over the threshold. There was a loud thud before light flickered in the fireplace. The room slowly came into view. He was prodding at the logs he’d dumped in the hearth. He pulled out a lighter and, lighting it, dragged it almost lovingly over the wood, before turning to watch her silently.

She stood, caught, at the threshold. A sudden tremble reminded her how cold she was. She walked to the fireplace, avoiding all the broken things that had fallen to the floor, crouched, and squeezed the freezing water out of her hair the best she could, trying to ignore their proximity.

He cleared his throat. “I… I’m sorry I pushed you. I shouldn’t have—”

“I don’t hate you,” she blurted. Even if they never saw each other again, he needed to know. “I think I might hate your dad, though.”

He laughed bitterly. “Join the bloody club, love.” He leaned further in her direction, sticking his hands out to warm them.

“Do you…?” She bit her lip. “Do _you_ hate me?”

He shook his head. “Why would I ha—? None of this is your fault.”

“Well, it’s not your fault either,” she said as evenly as possible, making herself meet his gaze.

“I killed Cain.” He rose, pacing the small room.

“So?”

He stopped, sputtered. “Angels aren’t… we can’t… I _killed_ a human.”

“I’ve killed people,” she said quietly. “I killed Malcolm.”

“In self-defense!”

“Pierce tried to kill us, so you killed him.” She shrugged. “That sounds like self-defense to me.”

“But if you weren’t…?” He shook his head. “Why did you run if you don’t hate me and you aren’t afraid of me?”

“You lied to me,” she said, standing. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I didn’t—”

“A lie of omission, maybe, but still… it _hurt_ , Lucifer. Okay? It hurt, but it also felt… familiar and when you’re used to…”

She couldn’t continue, but he didn’t need her to. “When you expect abandonment, it’s almost a… comfort when it finally happens.” His voice had gone soft, like it had on that balcony, when he’d kissed her, before her world had fallen apart. “Chloe, I…”

“I know. I… me too.” She buried her face in his chest as his arms came up to hold her. And the sweetness of the relief she felt in his arms warmed her more than that feeling of abandonment ever could. They weren’t okay, not yet, but maybe, if they believed, they could be.

As they pulled away, Lucifer took a step back, crushing something under his heel. He looked down, staring at the broken alarm clock on the ground, gaze catching on the scattered detritus.

She blushed. “I was upset. I…”

He was giggling. The actual, literal Devil was honest-to-God _giggling_.

She glared at him, but there was no force behind it.

His laughter subsided, eventually, into a frankly adorable hiccup, before he lapsed back into silence, breathing heavily.

“Will you stay?” she asked.

He looked up at her again. “Do you _want_ me to stay?”

“Yeah.” She took his hand and led him over to the couch. “I think we have a _lot_ to talk about.”

“So you… _want_ to know about that?”

“No more pretending, right?”

“Right.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “No more pretending.”


End file.
